I lined up the shot. Slow breath. Slow trigger squeeze. Apex's skull in the crosshairs.
And the bullet missed.
Not because I flinched—no. Apex moved. As if the bastard knew the round was coming for his head. That one shot had cost me everything.
The last sniper round in my chamber, gone into a tree trunk like some rookie's warning fire.
I cursed under my breath as the world snapped into motion. Zefar charged him. Apex stumbled. I was out of bullets, so now I had to get close. Close to Zefar. A man you didn't get close to if you liked having arms where God put them.
"Fine," I muttered aloud. "Pistol it is. The Soundbreaker. Bullets at the speed of sound. If Apex dodges that, he deserves to live."
I was balancing on the treetops, sprinting, branches whipping across my face, aiming for the perfect angle to save Zefar—when a black shape cut across my vision.
CAW.
"Oh no. Not you. The hitman bird," I growled.
The raven didn't come for my gun hand—no. That feathered demon went straight for my eyes.
"My eyes! Those eyes were diamond!"
I ducked too late. Claws scraped across my brow, and the world flipped as I lost footing. The fall was long enough for me to swear—loudly—that I'd kill that bird even if I had to crawl into Hell to do it.
I landed hard. Rolled. Stood. Barely.
Then the growling started.
I turned slowly. Wolves—four, maybe five—circling me, shadows with teeth. The raven flapped off like a traitor guiding my funeral procession.
I flipped my knife into my dominant hand and said the calmest words I could manage:
"Not today."
First wolf lunged.
I met it mid-air. Steel in fur. Rip. Roll. Blood on my face that wasn't mine. The others came fast. Good. I was faster.
Knife. Elbow. Knee. Throat. The world narrowed into motion and muscle memory—until something new slithered through the grass.
Snakes.
Not small ones. Not harmless ones. Fangs like needles dipped in nightmares.
"Oh fantastic," I muttered. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
One bite and I'd lose my sight—my best sense. The only thing that made me a good shot.
I gripped the knife tighter.
"I will… kill… that bird."
The universe answered immediately.
The raven landed on a branch and glared down with the smugness of a king mocking a peasant.
"Oh, you think you're smart?" I yelled. "You think you own this forest?"
Then it flew—slow enough for me to follow, fast enough to enrage me. It wanted me to chase it. Fine. It'd regret it.
I pushed through the brush, knife in hand, ignoring every thorn—until it stopped on a thick branch above a massive hanging hive.
I aimed my pistol.
It hopped behind the hive.
"Coward."
I fired.
The bullet punched into the hive.
Bad idea.
The entire hive erupted like living smoke. A screaming cloud of buzzing doom.
"Oh no—oh no—oh no—"
The bees descended. Not one sting. Not two. Hundreds. My skin became a battlefield of needles and venom. My vision blurred. My breath shortened. My throat tightened.
I choked, stumbling backward. "I'm… dying. I… can't… breathe…"
The panic clawed at me. I had no idea why it felt like my lungs were closing. I couldn't tell if I was going to black out or just explode into a screaming ball of death.
I staggered. Fell. Pistol slipping from my fingers. Bees crawled across my face like tiny assassins.
Everything faded except one blurry dark shape—the raven, perched above, watching me die.
"I swear… I swear I'll kill you…" I croaked with the last breath I could form.
Minutes? Hours? I didn't know. Time had no shape.
But when I opened my eyes again—everything burned. The world was wavy, spinning, wrong. My skin was swollen. My chest still tightened. My thoughts echoed in my skull like somebody speaking from inside a jar.
Only one idea remained. One I muttered aloud over and over:
"Shoot Apex… shoot him for the wolves… shoot him for the snakes… shoot him for the bees… shoot him for the bird…"
I stumbled forward like a drunk clown in a death parade. Somehow I found my pistol again. Somehow I tracked the sound of the fight.
Apex and Zefar were still having their dance.
Soon, Apex was on his knees, staggering, exhausted.
"Perfect…" I whispered.
I raised my pistol. I took the shot,then another and another...
I didn't waste a single pellet.
And I emptied the whole magazine into him.
Every shot cracked like thunder. Every impact staggered him. He fell with a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh, bleeding into the dirt.
I grinned. I actually grinned. The panic, the venom, the pain—it all made me feel alive in a weird, hilarious way.
"I… got you," I muttered. "All of you. Even you… bird…"
Then Zefar turned toward me.
His eyes glowed with something ancient. Cold. Patient.
"Oh… right," I said weakly. "Zefar… was fond of him…"
He walked toward me—slow steps, air vibrating around him.
I tried to explain. Maybe apologize. Maybe laugh.
"Hunter," he said quietly, "give me your weapon."
I was too high on bee venom and adrenaline to listen.
"Or what, Father?
We came to this cursed land because of some dead lady.
And if I'm being honest… I really hated her.
Hearing she died ten years ago was the best good‑riddance I ever gave a damn about."
I felt Zefar's rage rise—slow and cold—but my toxic lips wouldn't stop yapping.
"Slayers died today, Father.
My brothers died for your silly war.
You lost your mind the second you heard she died.
I knew something was off about you.
You're slipping, Victor.
Get a grip on yourself."
That was the moment I realized I had said too much.
Zefar raised his hand—just a small gesture.
I knew I was supposed to hand over my pistol.
But my hands disobeyed.
They lifted the pistol and leveled it at Zefar's head.
Oh God.
I was as good as dead.
He spoke with a calm that chilled bone:
"Has Sound‑Death made you brave?
Tell me, boy—can you end the King of Slayers?
Will you take my throne on your way to your own damnation?
Don't worry.
I will bring you back to your worthless senses."
He moved before my eyes even understood he had moved.
One heartbeat he was in front of me.
The next—behind me, pulling Sound‑Death from my back.
Then he swung.
He used my sniper like a wooden bat and smashed it into my knees first.
I collapsed with a cry—
but he didn't stop.
He came for my hands next.
He bashed them again and again until the nerves went silent,
until the shape of my own fingers stopped making sense.
My hands were… crushed.
And Sound‑Death—
my partner, my precision, my pride—
was reduced to a hollow, broken shell of what it once was.
With every bone in my hands cracked, Zefar dropped what remained of my weapon.
It clattered to the dirt
and split clean in half.
I screamed until I couldn't anymore.
The pain wasn't only physical.
It was the death of Sound‑Death—
my most loyal companion.
I knelt there trembling, staring at my ruined hands like they belonged to someone else.
Zefar stepped past me toward Apex's dying body, listened to the man's gibberish, then looked back at me.
"Bury him."
"I… I can't—" I whimpered.
"With your bare hands," he said.
"Dig him a grave."
The venom buzzed in my skull.
My vision doubled and tripled.
I nearly collapsed again.
But I noticed something strange—
Apex's predator army was gone.
Every wolf, every beast—
all fleeing in the same direction, as if summoned.
Zefar followed them, letting them guide him into the trees,
leaving me alone with a dying Apex,
alone with pain,
alone with the buzzing echo of bees still ringing in my ears…
And with a grave to dig.
A task I could not escape.
As the venom haze finally loosened its grip, one truth settled heavily:
Zefar had shown me more mercy
than I deserved.